Method to the Madness
by bitchy brunette
Summary: A little Dru fic. Very subtle hints of D/S


Title: Method to the Madness  
Summary: A peep inside the mind of Dru...  
Archive: ff.net  
Disclaimer: Come on, do you really think I would turn Buffy into Slutty the Vampire Slayer and make her Pod-Buffy and do all the horrible things to B/A that Joss does to them? How could you even think I had one teensy share in owning them? Silly you...  
Comments: My new standpoint is- Joss wants to milk this whole "Buffy" thing for every dollar her can possibly earn. Cutting off important characters like Angel and Giles to give them spin-offs and earn a new viewing audience and bring in more revenue is the evil plan! If I could tear my eyes off David I would stop the madness and boycott the show, as I do Buffy, but I can't! David is Joss's other evil plan! Hire a guy so hot that the girls have to watch him, and are mesmerized for an hour every week watching him change from one personality to the next. (Sigh) Anyway.   
Feedback: kimmie@e-mailanywhere.com  
  
  
  
  
"Drusilla...Drusilla, pretty one..." I looked around, twirling under the beautiful expanse of sky.   
Little lights shine from the sky, and my Spike used to tell me they were jewels that he'd get for me one day, and put them in my hair and on a lovely dress, a lovely black velvet dress. Black velvet like the sky. Spikey said I'd look like a princess. I was his princess, but he went all naughty. I hear the voice again, whispering delightful things. "Dru, you are a princess...Listen and I'll tell you a story..."   
"Where are you?" I called back, letting my arms fling loose and tilting my head back.  
"Here Drusilla. Look into the sky." I gasped at the moon.   
"You talk to me. Tell me again of the horrors you see. I want to see, too!" I cried, dancing to the music she played for only me.   
The music is like stars, hard and twinkling, shining but cold. So cold. I wrap my arms around myself, and pull at my shawl, lying over my shoulders. I have such white shoulders. It was always a sign of beauty, my mum told me so. Mummy called me an evil and cursed child, but when she was happy, she'd tell me things. She told me I was beautiful, so beautiful, the sky wept when I was born. I know the moon cries, she cries and I cry too, my innards hurt to see it. They twist! Oh God, they twist. I fall to the ground, clutching the grass as I scream. Someone has heard me, and I hear footsteps, running. IT is a young man. He looks so fresh, I just want to taste. I never mean to hurt, but the blood is so delicious, and slides down my throat like wine. I can't stop, I don't want to stop. "Dance with me." I rise from the grass, holding my arms out.   
The boy looks at me like I'm crazy. Maybe I am crazy. I never know the difference from before, and now. It all seems so strange. The moon never talked before, but I had the aches. I trembled, and was so hot; I couldn't get a breath of air. Mum screamed and opened all the windows, and my sisters fanned me, but I felt like I was choking. Then the sight came upon me, and my mum cried and said prayers to cleanse my filthy curse. "Are you sure you're ok?"   
"Yes. I can't promise you you'll be if you don't come here." I lower my eyes and stare, twisting a lock of my dark hair around my fingers.   
I beckon to him, humming the star song so he can hear. The boy approaches slowly, thinking I can do no harm. No, boy, you are wrong. I can harm. I like the blood, I know its glory, and I can smell it pulsing in you even now. But not for long, no, the moon tells me you won't live to see the day. Sometimes I can see the sun in my head; it's so terribly hot. I never went out in the day before; it burned colors in your skin. Dark skin is ugly, and only peasants have to work in the sun. Only peasants are dark. Like that evil little Slayer hussy. She's mean. But my boy is looking at me expectantly. I hold out my hand, and he takes it in his warm one. "Dance with me. Can you hear the moon?" I croon in his ear.   
"Are you crazy?" He asks, struggling in my grasp.   
This boy is a terrible dancer. He makes the moon unhappy. The moon is unhappy, and I will avenge her star children and drink the bad boy's blood. I clawed for the boy, grasping a handful of his hair. "Now you've hurt the moon. And you hurt my feelings." I felt my face change, growing hard and ridged.  
"And that makes me very mad. You are a naughty, naughty boy. Shh! Can you hear it?" The boy whimpered.   
"Please, don't hurt me." He begged, closing his eyes tightly.   
"No! Look at the moon! See how she cries? The song has changed! You've changed the song." I accuse, tearing his head back.   
I drink deeply, feeling the rich, warm rush of bliss sink into my tissues, making me young, strong, and beautiful. I drop the boy's body with a contented sigh. The moon whispers to me again, and I have regained her favor. I twirl to the newest song, feeling my dress bloom out with the dance. I hum the song to myself, conducting a silent orchestra of the night to music and players that only I can see and hear. Everything else fades away. 


End file.
